Distorted Affection
by Masaki-Hanabusa
Summary: His brother hates him. Or is it him that hates Lovino? No. He loves him? Feliciano can't remember if he feels love towards his brother or burning hatred. Either way, Italy's mind is far from stable. M for language and violence.


A/N: This is the sequel to my oneshot Selfish Affections, although it is not necessary to read it to understand this.

This story is dedicated to Jillion Tealeaf and LittleMissPandaHat, who had asked for a sequel. Sorry it took so long. I hope you like this and please leave a review if you can! I would enjoy it immensely!

* * *

The thick aroma of marinara floated throughout the Vargas household, the clanks and taps of utensils and cookware accompanying it. In the kitchen, the personification of northern Italy hummed along with a broken violin tht drifted out from the old record player in the corner of the kitchen. He liked modern music as much as the next person, but to him, nothing quite compared to the unique sound of an old fashioned record. He hummed softly to the music as he grabbed several bottles of seasoning from the cabinet, placing them onto the counter and picking up the oregano between his fingers.

He added a dash oregano to the sauce and stirred, watching as the water the pasta boiled.

Closing his amber eyes, dark and heavy circles underneath from extreme lack of sleep, he danced over to the oven, mimicking a waltz with the empty air as his partner, opening it and sliding in a tray of garlic bread. He smiled to himself, barely able to wait for the delicious bread.

Waltzing back back over to the stove, spinning barefoot across the tile, letting the violin fill his head, he dipped a finger into the red sauce, tasting it and savouring the flavor. After a moment of contemplation, he though a fresh onion would add a rather nice touch. Taking one from the small pile of produce, the redheaded italian grabbed a kitchen knife from the block and began to slice into it, juices squirting onto the cutting board. Another slice, the juice started to look rather odd, a strange hint of pink mixed into the translucency. Half an onion and Italy almost stopped breathing, heart pounding in his chest. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes tight, trying to erase the image in front of him.

"Onions don't bleed. It's stupid to think they do. This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real," he repeated over and over aloud, balling his hands into fists so that his knuckles turned white. He waited for what seemed like hours, though the reality was only about a moment, and then opened his eyes, looking back at the cutting board and his hands.

Red

Bright, beautifully disgusting red.

The nation let out a screamed when he saw his hands stained with blood, precious fluid dripping down onto the counter, forming a pool of red. Shrieking, he threw the knife down onto the marble counter, letting it bounce and fall into the sink.

Blinking away the bubbling tears, he fell silent when his eyes opened again, the blood gone completely from his sight.

He paused for a solid minute, staring blankly at the counter.

And then he laughed.

That was all he really could do as he brushed the hair from his face, trying to calm himself as he fell back onto the counter and sinking down to the floor.

Days of not sleeping had started taking their toll, causing hallucination. It started small, tiny sounds and moving shadows, but had eventually escalated into this. He could swear he could feel the wet heat coating his fingers. And the hallucinations were only growing worse.

But it wasn't as if he could sleep either. He'd fall asleep uneasily and be wracked by nightmares or pleasant dreams. He wasn't sure which of the two it was, the barrier between the two melting away. Was he scared or giddy when he dreamt up his dear older brother sobbing underneath him, pretty face all bruised and broken, blood rolling down from between his lips. Either way he would wake up screaming and shaking in terror and unbelievable excitement and joy, so much he couldn't sleep after it, staying awake for the rest of the evening stewing about in his own gruesome thoughts. Even now, thinking about it was causing a pounding in his chest.

No, it was terror. It had to be, for he'd never, ever wish ill thoughts to his fratello. His kind fratello, who he loved so dearly. Even when he screamed and swore at him, would hit him upside the head and call him stupid, was disgraced to be even related to him, Feliciano still loved Lovino as any good brother should and would never think of causing him harm. He'd never hurt him. He loved him, not hate, not hate.

Tilting his head back onto the cupboard, he gave a small giggle, covering his face with his shaking hands. He didn't even know anymore.

"Fratello..."

The violin cracked and popped and drifted throughout the empty house, mixing cruelly with choked, confused sobs.

* * *

"Fucking Spain," Lovino growled as he held his cell phone up to his ear with his shoulder, trying to find his car keys from his bag. "What the hell are you calling for bastard?"

"Hello to you too, Lovi," the Spaniard voice cheerfully came from the phone.

"Don't call me that, idiot," he growled, feeling the metal of his keys against his fingertips, just a hare out of easy reach. Placing the leather bag on the hood of his car, he pushed the rather useless items he kept inside out of the way, spotting his keys sitting on the bottom. Snatching them, he unlocked the door and swung it open, now taking the phone in his hand as he tossed his bag on the passenger seat and sat down on the leather seat. Sore from a long day, he sat there a moment, one leg hanging outside and head tilted back.

"But it's such a cute name," Antonio chirped, causing the italian to blush. "Anyway, did you decide whether you're coming over tonight? I miss your company." Lovino was sure he could hear Antonio's wide grin spreading wider. He knew from when he invited him out to diner a few days ago he immediately wanted nothing more than to yell out yes, but like hell he would ever say something like that. The bastard had to wait for a yes.

"You don't think I have more important things to do than waste my time with you? Fine, just this once I'll humour you!" he spat, knowing it wouldn't be just once. Shutting the door, he put the keys in the ignition and started up the car.

"That great! Do you just want to come over now?" he asked cheerfully. Blushing brightly as he pulled out of the spot, he calmed himself before he spoke again.

"Well, since you sound so desperate, I guess. I'm just going to drop a few things off first, and then I'll head over, you jerk."

"Great, I'll have everything set up then. See you soon, Lovi," the Spaniard seductively whispered from his end of the phone, before it clicked off. Shivering slightly, he couldn't help wonder what exactly their plans were. The last time Spain had called him over, they ended up making love in the hallway and he somehow started calling him boss in the middle of it all. Antonio's tongue was skilled enough to do so it seemed.

Trying to push the heated thoughts from his mind and out of his pants, he tossed the phone into the cup holder, rolled down the windows, and pulled out of the parking lot. Driving out into the nearly empty street, he knew it wouldn't take him long to get home, only about half an hour or so, but he drove a little faster than normal.

Pulling into the driveway, the embodiment of southern Italy noticed his brothers car parked also in the driveway.

"Hm, I thought he'd be out with the potato bastard like some stupid dog," he commented to himself, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. He didn't bother with his phone or wallet, since he'd be coming back out in a few minutes. Shoving the keys in his pocket, the nation walked up the walkway and up to the front door. Pushing it open, since neither of the Vargas brothers bothered to lock it, the elder italian was greeted to a rather intoxicating aroma of fine italian cooking. The marinara and garlic instantly stood out and he could hear his own stomach rumbling.

He could hear his brother singing in the kitchen and the sound of running water. He was probably cleaning up and hadn't even heard him walk in. That gave him a little relief. For the past week, Feliciano had been acting stranger than usual. His airheaded brother had always been clingy, but recently it was as like as if not being attached to his arm would cause him to die and frankly he was sick of it.

Taking advantage of the situation, he quietly crossed the front room, careful not make any noise. Glancing over to the kitchen, he could see Feliciano with his back turned, putting things away. Feeling safe, he passed the kitchen with ease. Taking off his shoes so it wouldn't be so loud, he hurried up the stairs to his room on the second floor.

Tossing his work shoes next to the dresser and his bag on his bed, he starting getting undress. Work clothes were definitely not right for a night like tonight. Tossing his shirt messily on the bed, he grabbed a baggy green long sleeve and a pair of tight jeans. Slipping on the garments, he looked at himself in the mirror. The shirt exposed just the right amount of his collarbone, the first place Spain liked to attack. After pondering a moment, he didn't want to seem too desperate, so he tossed a hoodie on as well.

Smiling a little to himself, the italian slipped on a pair of tennis shoes and closed his door behind him as he left into the hall. Listening hard, he could still hear his brother singing. It didn't seem like he even knew he was home. Quietly making his way back downstairs, he paused at the foot before quickly making his way to the door.

"Veh! Fratello! Welcome home!"

Lovino jumped, swearing under his breath at the fact he had been caught. He turned around to see his brother standing in the kitchen door way, drying a pot with a stupid grin on his face. He cringed, expecting for his brother to run up to him and practically glue himself to his arm. He was surprised when he didn't.

"I made pasta for dinner. If you want to sit down, I can start serving," he said cheerfully, walking back into the kitchen out of sight. He heard the pot being put down on the counter and the cupboards opening, the northern half grabbing them plates. He couldn't deny that Feliciano's cooking was the most delicious food he could ever eat in his life, but Antonio was far more important at the moment. The sooner he left, the sooner he could pretend that he didn't give a damn about Antonio or sex. Besides, with his very stupidly affectionate mood, Lovino wasn't exactly eager to spend much time with his little brother.

"Why the hell would I want to eat with you? I've got more important things to do," Lovino snapped, hoping to annoy Feli enough that he wouldn't want to eat with him. There was a pause from the kitchen, not even the sound of plates being placed onto the marble counter.

It wasn't like Feliciano to be so quiet. Usually when Lovino was mean or loud to him, which was quite often, he'd burst into tears and apologize. Worried, he took a step closer towards the kitchen.

"Felici-"

"More important? Veh? Are you going over to Toni's place again?" Feli asked, speaking again in a surprisingly calm manner. Lovino poked his head inside the kitchen, seeing his brother put one of the plates back with a small smile on his face.

"It's not like I have a fucking choice. It' work related, that's all! You think I fucking like spending time with that tomato bastard?" Lovino growled, lying. Glancing down at his watch, he wanted to get out the door within the next five minutes. The small motion was not missed by Feli. His eyes twitched slightly when he saw that his brother was rather interested in leaving quickly.

The elder saw his brother's lips move, muttering something to himself, but he couldn't catch what he said.

"Well, work is work. Say hi to Antonio for me, veh?" Feliciano grinned wide, though Lovino could sense a bit of strain in his voice. Feeling a slight pang of guilt, he rubbed the back of his head, not exactly sure what to say. He would have prefered him start crying or upset so at least he could yell at him to stop and storm out, or something of the sort.

"Sorry about dinner, Feliciano. Next time, okay?" he said awkwardly. Feli just kept putting away spices with a dumb look on his face. Again he was silent, as if he forgot his brother was there. Lovino waited for a response, any kind of response, but he didn't pay any mind. He just started soaking some of the utensils and pans. After a minute it seemed, he glanced again at his watch. He didn't really have the time to deal with Feli right now.

"Veh, aren't you going to be late? You keep looking at your watch," Feli finally asked, almost in singsong, not looking at his brother as he washed of a spoon. Tossing it out onto a towel to dry, he grabbed another, a knife this time. Rather irritated that his little brother didn't make any note of his trying to be nice, he turned to leave

"I'm fucking leaving. I'll see you whenever, " Lovino yelled, walking out of the kitchen in a huff. Slamming the door shut as he stormed out of the house, Lovino didn't bother to look back as he hopped inside his car and grabbed his phone, holding it up to his ear as he pulled out.

* * *

Feliciano watched his brother walk out, keeping his bright smile on his face until the door was shut. Looking blankly at the door, hearing the engine roar and the tires as they pulled out of the driveway, his grip tightened around the handle of the blade, knuckles turning white and eyes changing from sweet to enraged. Clenching his teeth, he slammed the knife down into the dirty cutting board, impending the blade deep inside the wood.

"How fucking stupid do you think I am?" he growled lowly, chest heaving as anger boiled up uncontrollably. "And here I was being such a nice fratellino, making dinner and everything. But nooooo!" he yelled childishly, throwing his plate as hard as he could into the sink and watched it shatter to bits and pieces. "You'd rather go off and get fucked then spend time with your own brother! You do really fucking hate me, don't you? Lying to me, to my face! How much of an idiot do you take me for?"

Looking down at the mess he had made, he dug out the shards from the disposal, tossing them in the garbage. As he collected the bigger pieces from the sink, he tried to collect himself, calm himself. He hummed to the music that was no longer playing, breathing deeply. Feeling the burning rage subside, he place his head between his hands and rubbed his temples. His fingers feeling sticky, he hadn't even realized he had cut open his palm on the plate. Grabbing the towel and putting pressure on his hand, he slowly walked out into the living room, falling back onto the couch. Resting his head back on the arm, he covered his eyes with the back of his good hand.

He laid there a good fifteen minutes before reaching backwards, dropping the bloody towel and grabbing his phone, not sitting up or moving his hand from his tired, heavy eyes. Using speed dial, pressing number three, he brought the phone up to his ear and waited for the other end to pick up.

One ring.

Two rings.

"Italy? What is it?"

"Hello to you to, Ludwig," Italy giggled brightly as he normally did, although his tired face did not change expressions. "Are you busy tonight? I made pasta for dinner and wanted to know if you wanted to come over to eat. I can add wurst too since I know you like it so much!"

"As much as I'd like, I'm actually busy for tonight. Japan and I are continuing our discussion from the meeting a few weeks ago. The machines?" the german country explained apologetically.

"Oh. You didn't invite me to come," he stated, sounding sadder than he actually felt. He was more angry than anything. Ludwig and Kiku always seemed to exclude him from things. He was far too stupid to be included. It wasn't like he could understand anything at all, right?

Ludwig gave a sigh from the other end.

"You fell asleep the last time we brought up the subject, so we thought you wouldn't be interested in coming. We'd just be talking about clachankers and that kind of stuff," Ludwig brought up, which was indeed true, but whether he was awake or asleep didn't matter in the slightest. Neither Ludwig or Kiku would give half a damn about his opinion anyway.

"Veh, you're probably right. You have a goodnight then. I'll talk to you tomorrow?" he asked with a cheerful sounding voice. At least he knew they weren't ditching him to fool around like his brother. They just weren't those kind of people.

"Ja, I'll call you tomorrow," he said quickly before he hung up. Feli listened to the dial tone, thrown off about how quick the other was to hang up. Usually he at least conversed a little. But then he did say he was busy.

"Or maybe he's just as sick of me," he chuckled to himself, letting the phone slip through his fingers and onto the carpet with a thud. He could still smell his dinner, the aroma drifting in from the kitchen, but it just made his stomach feel ill. Not bothering to move, he closed his heavy amber eyes, wishing he would never have to wake up again and he could just stay in his horribly pleasant dreams.

It wasn't long before the tired nation fell asleep.

* * *

A/N: Oh, if I had a really good Italy cosplayer and a video camera, I would so film out this scene. I'm not saying it's anything spectacular, something over the top amazing. It's far from that. I know I'm far from a good author and I'm sure quite a lot of people could write this scene better. But back when I was just barely fleshing out the story several months ago, in my head it all flowed in a specific manner, every angle from a wide panning shot of Italy in the kitchen waltzing to Italy sliding down into the frame as he slides down to the floor, to the way he picks up his phone from the couch. Every little moment is a way, not just this one chapter. I think it would translate so much better visually. I don't really know. I just felt like sharing that since its something that I think would be cool to do. Ignore me, I is stupid.

Oh and the song playing in the background that Feli's listening to is "Heaven's All You" sung by Paul Sovino, from the movie Devil's Carnival. And Germany mentioning the meeting with Japan, I'm referring to episode 20 from Beautiful World.

Well, I plan on making this a three-shot, so you can expect another chaoter hopefully soon. And please leave a review. They mean a lot! Until next time!


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